


deep sweet sea

by Brim



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game), Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls III
Genre: Dubious Morality, Gen, Isekai, funny irithyll adventures, micolash goes wheee
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:54:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24966307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brim/pseuds/Brim
Summary: The Cosmos and the Deep were not one.
Relationships: Laurence (Bloodborne) & Micolash (Bloodborne), Sulyvahn the Tyrant & Aldrich Devourer of Gods (Dark Souls)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

The tall spires of Yahar’gul housed many odd creatures. Some more hidden the rest, but as the days went by, Micolash was beginning to be able to _see_ Their form. The transparent outline of long limbs connecting to Their torso grew clearer to the point that at a certain angle and during a certain time of the day, Micolash could almost _observe_ Them from the Advent Plaza.

They were scattered around the Yahar’gul and seemed content with just idling—waiting. For what? Micolash did not know, but the curiosity made his skin itch.

When he shared his observations with a few trusted colleagues, some of them expressed skepticism, claiming that there was nothing there to see, but most others shared his enthusiast. Even if they could not see the creatures, there was no reason not to trust _Master Micolash_ ’s accounts. Micolash certainly had no reason to lie to his students. Few were those blessed to see Them - they became his close assistants and together they watched and _learned._

Projects were moved and deadlines were shifted in order to focus all resources on studying these beings. A strict protocol was eventually drafted after a few daredevils tried to interact with Them. One particular accident involved a scholar, who stood too close to a limb. A hand extended and grabbed her—a surprised shriek tore through the monotony of Yahar’gul followed by an excited giggle and then nothing.

When the being, eventually, put the scholar’s prone form down on the ground, Micolash rushed to examine his student’s condition – he checked her eyes, face and pulse and, to his greatest disappointment, it was not good. There were no physical injuries, the giant apparently handled her body with gentleness and _care_ , but she either suffered shock—or something else entirely, because she never woke, no matter what they tried. It was a pity, Micolash thought, but she would take the secrets of the creature’s true form to her grave.

Ever since then Micolash had been trying to catch the attention of one of Them to _see_ for himself what this great visitor was, but his efforts were in vain.

Micolash could see their silhouettes in Cathedral Ward as well, but They didn’t congregate as much as in Yahar’gul. Laurence, he was certain, knew something about Them, but Micolash hadn’t seen the vicar in a while. Whenever he did, Laurence was always conservative at best, dodgy at worst, when it came to sharing his findings.

“I would not like to keep false hopes up.” He gave him this excuse and attempted to look sincere, to which Micolash just scoffed. If Laurence wanted to pretend to be sheep, it was not his job—or care for that matter, to worry about. The relationship between his school and the Healing Church was growing volatile as of late, but they maintained mutual support and for that reason, Micolash did not give it much thought. 

Instead, Micolash focused his attention on chasing the mysterious guests. It was his greatest delight that one day, when he opened the window to his office, he saw the ghostly outline of a hand right next to his window. Forgetting all protocol in his excitement, Micolash flailed and extended his arms in an effort to _touch it_. Get closer to this _great being_ —

And the creature answered - Micolash didn’t resist when the Amygdala grabbed him.

…

His first recollection was of crisp air and the night. The stars in the sky above him shone bright, brighter than he’d ever seen them ever shine in his life. His eyes squinted when he tried to guess familiar constellations, but all they formed were disfigured shapes and disjointed fragments.

 _How odd_ , he thought as he groggily lifted himself up and dusted his coat from the—snow? His hands felt numb from cold. 

His next recollection was of him wandering about a vast courtyard leisurely, taking note of the unfamiliar architecture. It looked too old, about as old as Cainhurst, but the scenery was different – unfamiliar and very much not like anything close to Yharnam or its surroundings.

The mystery grew. Micolash idled by the balcony to gather his thoughts. It seemed as if his brain was trying to force the pieces the fit together in order to solve the puzzle—Perhaps he needed a more abstract way of thinking. The architecture reminded him of Cathedral Ward, but plainer. The last thing he remembered was standing in Yahar’gul when the creature grabbed him and—

He felt numb shock as his body flew back when something collided with the Mensis cage. The sudden blow caused him to lose balance and he toppled over with a grunt – the world and the sky was spinning.

Micolash heard the air whistle as something flew past his head, narrowing missing him and collided just a few meters away from him. Another flew towards him and a third time it missed. It landed closer this time – enough to send rubble flying towards him, but thankfully what was left of the cage protected him. Against all odds, Micolash tried to get up on his feet, but eventually gave up and remained still on the cold ground.

The world began fading and eventually he passed out.

…

When he regained consciousness, Micolash blearily realized he was placed in an unfamiliar bed. Still dazed, his eyes darted to his sides in order to examine his surroundings – the room was furnished luxuriously and sparsely, but the furniture looked outdated, _too medieval_.

He certainly wasn’t in Yharnam.

Micolash tried to move. There was a mild headache splitting his brain, but the cramp in his neck felt worse – just trying to lift himself was agony worse than the times he passed out asleep on his desk for hours…

Still, he tried and tried, grunting and huffing, panic building up in throat at the thought that _something_ completely mundane and out of his control had left him bedridden. A man. even half as busy as him. couldn’t afford to idle in bed nursing an injury when there was so much yet to do— _Blood_ , he thought, he needed blood.

He heard whispers and cloth rustling and Micolash stilled. He rolled to his side and in the corner of his visions he saw corners standing in front of the bed _staring_ at him blankly. They, if Micolash could even describe them as people, looked like cadavers. Perhaps _zombies_? He had mild success with reanimating human bodies, but never this _well-made_.

“Greetings, visitor of the Deep Sea.” One of them said and to Micolash’s great surprise, he realized that he understood them perfectly. The figures were dressed in robes and looked similar to foreign priests. “Our Saint has been expecting you.”

 _Deep Sea? Visitor? Saint?_ The questions formed too quickly while he was still trying to process his situation and it made his already aching head feel worse. Perhaps it was best not to exert himself – he must have sustained at least a head injury when he was attacked in the courtyard.

Seeing his struggle, the same priest, Micolash decided to dub him their leader, spoke again. 

“Forgive us. Your arrival was unexpected and the guards had not been alerted.” Regardless of their excuses, it did not ease his persisting pain.

That is until one of the priests stepped forward and, perhaps taking pity upon his agony, helped him sit upright with an attentive hand on his back. Micolash looked up to him with sincere gratitude and muted wonder when the priest pulled out _something_ from his robes and offered him a dull green flask full of a warm liquid.

“Drink this.” He instructed and then brought the mouth of the flask to his lips in careful aid. With no hesitation whether he should consume this mysterious liquid or not, Micolash listened. After all, drinking unknown liquids which could possibly kill had grown a norm within his field and he was desperate enough for any form of respite.

It was tasteless, like inadequately brewed tea and very much like _hot tea_ , it almost burned his tongue.

His chest felt warm. The pain in his joints quickly dulled and he felt his flesh mend itself. However, the sensation, Micolash noted, was the _opposite_ of the healing blood: while the effects of the blood were a steady gem-like glow, this liquid ignited a fast- _burning_ fire. 

Micolash felt disoriented, as if his head was struck or he was drunk. After a few more moments, his mind cleared and he looked up to the priest with renewed gratitude in his eyes. Whether his savior understood the gesture or not, he did not know – the priest’s facial features were too skeleton and ruined by decay for him to be able to guess what their facial expressions were. 

It reminded him of the Phtumerians, he idly thought. Micolash could not suppress a chuckle, amused at the irony of the association and the priest released him.

“Thank you for your kindness, but I must ask for another one.” Micolash straighten his back and looked towards the rest of the priest –the one that had been attending him joined the group as well. “I appear to be dreadfully lost.” He slid out of the bed and gestured to his surroundings by spreading his arms. “Perhaps, fine gentlemen, you might be able to give me some directions?”

 _And where is my cage_ , he wanted to ask well, but priorities.

“Our Saint is eager to speak with you.” Their speaker answered, without really answering. Micolash’s hands fell to his side in disappointment, but he decided not to despair just yet. Whoever, or whatever these _things_ were, they clearly had _certain_ expectations of him and Micolash might as _comply_ with his new hosts’ wishes.

 _Cooperation might pave the way to prosperity_ , he thought as he followed them when the slowly shuffled out of the room.

…

The palace, or at least they were inside a place that Micolash could only assume to be a palace, looked _desolate._ Air dreadfully stale and musty, gloomy hallways, broken tiles, which he had to carefully maneuver through in order to not trip and fall in the dark, and there was nothing, but the sound of echoing footsteps and Micolash’s own breathing. Occasionally he would see the figure of _something_ shifting in the darkness, but his new friends seemed unbothered, or perhaps oblivious. They guided him in silence through a grand hall, with little wait for Micolash to wander.

After a while of walking and no response to his questions, Micolash clicked his tongue impatiently. Attempting to converse with beasts would’ve been more productive.

“All will be revealed soon.” Eventually, one of them said cryptically. Micolash rolled his eyes and sighed.

He dug his hands in his coat’s pockets, rummaging for supplies. Thankfully, he was in possession of most of their content and nothing was lost during his transportation – namely, a small notebook, an empty phantasm shell, a soft eyeball darkened by storms and— he could feel the sensation of slick and glossy, tiny tentacles wrap themselves around his fingers gently, playfully even. The Augur of Ebrietas gave him comforting confidence that he wasn’t forsaken. It had been a cherished companion ever since his days as a fledgling scholar of Byrgenwerth. He answered its keenness with the careful caress of his thumb over its tiny head.

Eventually they climbed up a grand staircase and entered another great hall. There was a rapid change to his surrounding - he could hear whispers and pained moans. He coughed – the stench wafting in the air was worse than the waste pits of Yahar’gul and Yharnam, where beasts and disease hid. It left little to the imagination as to what the sludge covering the ground was, but what intrigued Micolash, was the fact that it _moved_. The dark mass ebbed and flowed gently—like a calm sea.

_Mud?_

“Saint of the Deep, Aldrich.” One of the priests proclaimed and they moved forward, unbothered by the sludge sticking to their feet up to their ankles and the filth clumping to the edges of their robes. Some of them were holding some sort of elaborate candlestick holders, while the others were carrying decorative staves. No doubt, those were symbols of faint.

Suddenly, Micolash’s interest ignited. He took determined steps forward, coming close to the gathering of priests. The ground was squishy under his feet – as if he was traversing through a shallow swamp.

“Aldrich, Saint of the Deep!” The same priest called, this time with more zeal, but again there was no response.

Micolash could only guess that something nonverbal passed between the collective priests’ hive mind, because the next moment, their catalysts all lit at once.

“The Pontiff’s wisdom protects us.”

“Oh…!” Micolash exclaimed when he saw them raise their magical devices and conjure fire from it. It sent fireballs forward and they all homed in towards a particularly large bump in the corner of the room.

Micolash started clapping.

“Majestic!” He cheered. “I’ve seen this done before only by the attendants in the Nightmare! Are you also blessed by the Great Ones?” However, his fanfare went unnoticed, or perhaps purposefully ignored.

The priests stilled – a shriek and the room stilled in dreadful anticipation. If Micolash were sitting, he’d be at the edge of his seat. The dark mass deflated and seemingly melted into the rest of the filth covering the ground. Moments, which seemed like eons passed, until a bump appeared and _glided_ towards them. It congealed into a formless blob, much like blood, Micolash noted.

He stroked his chin, expression thoughtful.

“My apologies.” A low voice rambled. It was neither male nor female, but an amalgamation of several voices. They all sounded pained and tired. “I was dreaming.”

Neither of the priest said anything. They simply stepped to the side, revealing Micolash to the figure.

“Ahh…!” The voices rasped and the blob moved closer to him, albeit still at a respectful distance. The deacons, with their duties fulfilled, started shuffling out of the room, so that eventually only Micolash and Aldrich remained.

“I have waited a long time for this!” The creature proclaimed, excitement oozing out of its every tone. “ _Too long_ in fact, I was beginning to dread abandonment.”

Micolash took a step forward, with a serious expression and the determination of a man, who came to a pivotal conclusion. He just needed to _confirm it_.

He straightened his back, lifted one hand above his head, as if reaching out towards the above and one hand outstretched to his side, palm facing upwards. Micolash said nothing and just waited.

And waited.

And waited longer.

The upper part of Aldrich shifted slightly, as if tilting its head, but otherwise there was no recognition of what this gesture meant. 

When his arm felt funny and he got tired, Micolash quit his posing with a dejected sigh. Whatever this _wild_ thing was, it certainly wasn’t a Great One. He should have guessed with its frivolous demeanor—it was a bit too _human_.

Great Ones did not seek worshipers - it was man who sought to worship Them, so that they may learn from Them and ascend with Them one day.

“It appears that you are not what I thought you were.” Micolash confessed. His mood had deflated and he felt disappointed.

“My apologies.” Aldrich expressed his regret again. “I am not yet Great and require more time to prepare.”

 _Indeed, this is just another mindless beast after all_. Micolash thought sadly, but he could not fault Aldrich. After all, he was much the same.

Still, _Age of the Deep Sea_ , did sound somewhat hopeful. Perhaps, he _could_ learn from this.

…

Micolash did not quite know what his new hosts were planning to do with him, but being a hostage was not one of them. He was given free rein to roam and although the _deacons,_ didn’t do anything aside from staring at him with their hollow glares whenever he passed, they were attentive whenever Micolash approached them with an inquiry.

He learned that the place he was transported to was called _Anor Londo_. Or what was left of it at least, as Micolash quietly observed the _rotting_ denizens inhabiting it. The old furniture was fit for royalty and, while wandering the maze of rooms, he saw various trophies and old relics that spoke of a glorious past.

Unfortunately, anthropology wasn’t his forte – Micolash had other studies he preferred to occupy his time with.

The only consolation from this whole affair was that from his frequent conversations, he was starting to develop an appreciation for Aldrich. The man—he learned that Aldrich was a former man—was also someone who shared his vision and zeal. Misguided he may be, but Aldrich also sought freedom from the shackles of his own _beastly stupidity_.

His shared enthusiasm made Micolash feel homesick – he missed his students.

For those reasons, Micolash realized that his initial dismissive impression of Aldrich was incorrect and he did feel the pangs of guilt over judging a book by its cover. _Somewhat._ Aldrich was not as brutish as he originally thought, in fact, Micolash was pleasantly surprised to find a fellow scholar in soul.

“The Deep consumes all.” Aldrich explained. “The old Gods feared the coming age, but they were as cowardly as they were foolish.”

“The Great Lake you mean?” Micolash corrected. His only complaint was Aldrich’s _odd_ terminology.

The two chatted away for a period that Micolash could only guess was hours. Aldrich did lapse into the occasional incoherent rant, but Micolash was not one to stop a man from pouring out his soul. It’s a reason he loathed the dreaded time constraints during debates when he was still a student. 

“Indeed, we’ve waited long for the Gods to fall, O Benevolent Emissary.” Aldrich would rant and rave. “We’ve suffered greatly under their greed. This…This is just. Pontiff Sulyvahn agrees at least this much with me.”

 _Pontiff-who_ , Micolash would simply nod politely at his insistence. He didn’t care for political mummery – never did for that matter. For all its worth, Laurence’s charisma allowed him much freedom. Working with the Healing Church meant that they bore the blunt of the public’s reception and thus Micolash could operate his school and work on his research in peace and away from the public eye.

Eventually, Aldrich would excuse himself, saying that it was dinner time and it was Micolash’s time to return to his room.

“What’s a meal compared to the satisfaction of nourishing our brains with a productive conversation?”

He would scoff, but Aldrich was very …meticulous about his mealtime and would grow quite upset whenever Micolash tried to force their conversations to continue.

As unfortunate as it was, Micolash thought it better not to disrespect his kind hosts.

…

Nightmares were, well— _nightmares_. Usually Micolash could not recall what he’d seen or experienced while traversing them once in the waking world. When he was still a young scholar in Byrgenwerth, Master Willem advised him to keep a notebook close to him at all times, so that he may jot down the details of his observation.

He sat down on the bed in his room, took out the small notebook from his pocket and skimmed through the pages. Micolash ran his fingers over the pithy commentary and smiled fondly. Most of his writings were hastily written hints, rather than instructions, and it wasn’t uncommon for his writings to get so chaotic that the ink would smudge, letters unreadable to the point that even he didn’t know what he wrote.

He explored the underground ruins deep beneath Yharnam, the Chalice Dungeons, and he’d traversed nightmares. _The Nightmare_! Once past his initial revulsion—the last efforts of his primitive brain to keep him blind and ignorant of the cosmic Truth—his pain vanished and all the woes in his life, all of humanity’s tragedies, seemed so trifle.

And when They answered—blessed reassurance! It was a sense of elation in the abyss of enjoyment thus suddenly revealed. Micolash felt warm and tingly at a mere recollection, but it also heavily contrasted his dull surroundings.

 _Dreams. Nightmares_. This did not feel like one – it was too real and _solid_. Perhaps, he was in the waking world, but in foreign lands? The feats the deacons performed could only be described, in the most dreadfully nonscientific way, as sorcery and miracles. _Magic_. And while Micolash never had the luxury in life to travel, he’d heard enough tales and read enough books to know that, the things Aldrich and the deacons could do was not something possible in his world.

So where was he? He needed more data. Although the odds of this being a Nightmare seemed null, he could not completely disregard it as an option. What other Great Ones could he meet?

Additionally, he still needed to find the creatures on the rooftops in Yahar’gul, so that he may _hopefully_ return home. After all, this expedition needs to come to an end eventually.

Micolash rummaged the rooms in his wing for writing supplies. He managed to find a half-broken, but still usable, quill and ink, that miraculously hadn’t dried out completely. With a bit of liquid, he could resume documenting his experience.

His own accounts and conclusions, the deacons’ answers and his conversation of Aldrich – Micolash wrote a list of tasks in order to guide himself.

What would his colleagues think if they were in his shoes? What would— _what would Laurence do?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading, I deeply appreciate your feedback! 
> 
> micos diary would look like my drafts notes for this whole thing,
> 
> 2 disclaimers:   
> \- I know that getting shot with a giant arrow and it colliding in your weird cage headgear should break your neck, but we're ignoring irl implications  
> \- I also realize that realistically, they wouldn't understand each other due to the language barrier, but Im ignoring that aspect for the sake convenience, because the logistics were driving me insane
> 
> anywho, updates might be a bit slow, but got a good portion of this Planned  
> next chapter: sulyvahn attempts to be an emotional support pontiff and micolash starts collecting rocks


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> many thanks to the dear, anika ( twitter: @dydroit/ao3: FreeTheSoul ) who helped with prof-reading!

When Micolash was still just a young and naïve student of Byrgenwerth, he was a bit of a daredevil. Now that he was older and more mature, he would consider that he had been reckless in his pursuit of the truth. However, it was recklessness he would never regret. Unlike some of his peers — _that damned spider,_ he cursed internally — Micolash had had to rely exclusively on himself to get to the position he currently was in and to learn as much as he had. Outside help was a rarity, and he often took risks in his pursuit of knowledge.

And, as a side effect, he also grew to be quite resourceful.

One night he had managed to sneak in one of the locked storage rooms, where they kept hidden findings and artifacts from the underground dungeons. Things that only a trusted few, selected by Master Willem, were meant to see. To break in here was dangerous, but also exciting.

Micolash rummaged through the cabinets— searching, looking, reading and only stopped in tense awareness whenever he heard footsteps close to the door. The room was appallingly dark, for he did not dare to light even a candle in fear of someone passing and seeing the tiny flame, thus ruining his little exploration.

His little hunt continued for quite a while until he heard the distinct sound of a key being inserted into the keyhole and the clicking of the lock mechanism. Luckily for him, the old door got stuck, when the person entering attempted to open it, which gave enough time for Micolash to quickly go to the only possible hiding spot in the room – a deep trunk, where they kept old gear and other tools used during the exploration.

After a bit of a struggle, the door finally creaked open just in time for him to close the trunk’s lid and he hushed himself, attempting to ease his panicked, ragged breathing. The inside, a tight and dark space, felt suffocatingly oppressive— but to be caught by Master Willem would be worse. The room stilled in dreadful silence for a long time and Micolash felt the itch of curiosity to peek out, but before he could resolve himself to actually do it, he heard the wooden floor creak and soft footsteps followed.

His heart hammered in his chest and he remained completely still, trying to sink into the junk filling the trunk, to bury himself in it and hide. However, the trunk’s lid inevitably opened and he saw none other than Laurence glaring down at him with a stern frown.

“La—” A hand clapped over his mouth before he could squeak out the name and pushed him down. Shocked, Micolash grabbed his wrist in an attempt to pry it off, fingernails digging into the soft fabric of his peer’s sleeve, but Laurence’s hold was relentless. He was about to bite his hand in retaliation, but then he heard their mentor speak.

“Laurence?” Master Willem asked and Micolash froze. Laurence hastily pushed him further down, almost crushing him, so that he was obscured from view by the trunks depth and his own body, as the door opened wider and Master Willem stood by the entrance. “What is going on over there?”

“Nothing, Master Willem,” Laurence’s calm tone reassured their teacher, while still staring down at Micolash with cold eyes— as if threatening him, if he were to try and speak. “I will be with you shortly. There is something I forgot in here,” he continued and, just like that, Master Willem believed him.

The door creaked again as it closed and the old man walked away. Both students listened in tense silence as the sound of his slow walk faded away. The rhythmic tapping on the old wooden floor of Master Willem’s cane echoed as Laurence’s hold loosened slightly, but it was still firm enough. Laurence held him down for a moment longer, paranoid, Micolash assumed, before sighing and releasing him. Micolash gasped and tried to get up. His back felt sore – surely later he would find bruises had formed from his rough manhandling.

“I was told to fetch something from here,” Laurence said curtly as he stood up and wiped his hand on one of the drapes thrown next to the trunk. “I did not expect to have to find _you._ ”

“Mind if you,” Micolash coughed from the dust as he struggled to regain balance, “Help a fellow out?” Laurence glanced at him sidelong and frowned, but ultimately relented. He grabbed Micolash’s extended hand and helped pull him up. 

“You owe me now,” Laurence simply declared and Micolash huffed, once he finally crawled out.

“Why did you save me?” He looked up to Laurence in confusion. Laurence only gave him a crooked smile in answer and left him on his own. Once outside, his walk broke into a slight jog, as he tried to catch up to Master Willem.

Micolash dusted himself and fixed his uniform. After making sure that everything was as it was before he entered, he quietly returned to his dorm. The thought of _owing_ something to Laurence was unpleasant, but despite the latter’s declaration, in all the years they’ve known and worked together, Laurence never asked for him to return the favor.

…

Presently, a very dejected-looking Micolash was slouched in his seat, poised in the back rows of Irithyll chapel and staring at the ornate ceiling while the Pontiff went on with the sermon. Since he lost his cage, Micolash had been looking for other ways to imitate its effect – namely, an old silvery helm he found in Anor Londo, which he was fairly certain belonged to one of the knights who shot him down when he arrived. However, it was quite lacking in its capabilities and he found himself growing restless in the communication fog he found himself in.

With its never-ending nights, his perception of the passage of time was ruined in a way very different from whenever he stayed in the Nightmare. Time there was frozen still, cut away from the waking world, the very fabrics of reality, unlike the slow decay in here. Slowly, gradually, he watched the night sky change, yet the scenery around him remained the same: desolate ruins, and a strict quietness in the city below.

Notable events were too scarce. The Deacons made for poor, disappointingly silent attendants who mostly left Micolash on his own. His meetings with Aldritch were too irregular for him to reliably gauge the state of things, and Aldritch was too dull for him to derive any meaningful information— that wasn’t just the words of a crazed fanatic. Micolash felt his mind growing madder and more irritated by the boredom and waste of time.

With a sigh, Micolash plucked the helm off his head and set it beside him. He leaned forward, resting his head on folded arms placed on the front row’s backrest. One hand’s fingers tapped softly on his coat’s sleeve. A few attendees gave him a dirty look for the obscene behavior and the disruption, but Micolash paid them no mind. The people around him were odd in manner and appearance – tall and lanky, similar robes draped over them, giving the idea that this was an ant colony and these were its mindless workers. They offered little in the way of insight. The only thing that mattered to them was the dull city’s order and the Pontiff’s words.

And the Pontiff, although kind and warm with his welcoming, was insistent on accompanying Micolash whenever he ventured into Irithyll.

 _Pontiff Sulyvahn_. Micolash had met the man before, after hearing many positives and negatives from Aldritch about him. During a stuffy dinner _feast_ organized by the Saint himself no less, as if Aldritch was showcasing a trophy or some type of proof. The Pontiff looked what he only guessed as pleased, while the Mensis scholar was not particularly impressed upon finally meeting him. Sulyvahn was tall, as tall as those Pthumerian giants Laurence liked to experiment on. He looked rather like Logarius’ long lost cousin, except that he possessed a shrewdness to him that was nothing like Logarius’ open zeal and contempt for the Vilebloods and all things impure.

The Pontiff spoke a lot, but it was of very little actual worth and he kept his intentions well-hidden. _Well_ , Micolash thought, he had more than enough dealings with reticent scholars to know when someone was hiding something from him— perhaps, unraveling that mystery could offer a good enough distraction, although he doubted it would be relevant to his quest to return to his own world. Whatever conspiracy plagued this land wasn’t something he was deeply invested in.

He _really_ missed his school and his students.

Micolash heard movement and blinked, returning his thoughts back to the present – the mass had ended, but Micolash leaned back and slumped into his seat as the crowd shuffled out. He remained as such until the cathedral emptied itself of its people and it was just the Pontiff who spoke to a few deacons near the altar. Their conversation ended and Micolash saw the Pontiff’s head turn towards him before he walked over with slow, deliberate steps.

“Something seems to be ailing you,” he said as he drew near. Micolash straightened his back against his seat. “What troubles you, my friend?”

He knelt down next to him, so that they spoke at an equal eye level. The gesture was very modest and perhaps well-meaning, but Micolash could not help but feel as if he were being treated like a particularly fussy child being coddled by its overbearing parents. Condescending in a way. It was idiotic for one to assume that a man of foolish, religious beliefs and a man of science and higher pursuits should treat each other as equals— he kept this particular comment to himself. But regardless, he played along. Micolash did not seek to disrespect his hosts, silly as they were.

Perhaps this was why Aldritch often complained about the Pontiff’s flippant treatment of his words – ignorance and, probably, a bestial fear.

“In truth, I have been feeling rather glum,” Micolash confessed and the Pontiff tilted his head slightly in question. Micolash sighed again. “Stranded here as I am, I have not made much progress with my… mission,” he continued, the Pontiff nodding slowly. He eventually stilled and, for a moment, Micolash expected him to simply walk away.

“Perhaps a walk might help clear your mind,” he said eventually. Micolash raised a brow, but did not protest when the Pontiff led him outside.

With its bright moon, wide streets and tall spires, nightly Irithyll reminded Micolash very much of Yharnam, however the likeness was purely superficial – the city was gravely quiet and appeared deserted, with only knights and mages patrolling the streets almost like haunting constructs, rather than living, breathing beings. Micolash had seen the citizens during the Pontiff’s masses, but the streets were devoid of its populations, and idly he wondered where the masses hid— Yharnamites, for all their foolishness, were a rather loud, lively bunch.

Micolash’s teeth chattered and his shoulders shuddered due to the chill – he was somewhat unprepared, dressed as he was, and wrapped himself with his overcoat, clinging to it for warmth. In contrast, the Pontiff appeared unbothered by the cold despite his light garb. Micolash absently recalled Aldritch telling him that he originates from a world of bitter frost and decay.

They walked the streets in complete silence, a stillness so deep and profound that Micolash was beginning to feel himself growing uneasy. He found himself imagining that invisible eyes were bearing down on him and, if he strained his ears enough, he could just hear someone breathing right behind him. Faint awareness bubbled up within him that he was surrounded and cornered, much like an animal.

 _No_ , Micolash concluded, he _was_ being watched. He turned his head upwards toward his companion in confusion, but the Pontiff only tilted his head slightly in question. With that mask covering his face, it was hard to read his expressions.

“The ambience in here is very odd.” He finally commented, keeping the dryness from his voice.

The Pontiff chuckled. “Many unpleasant echoes come from below the city,” he explained, tone not losing its pleased cadence. “Some believe that the Old Gods, so used to lavishly living in the realm above, are now locked in the deep dungeons where criminals are kept.”

“And is that belief unfounded?” Micolash furrowed his brows.

The swords attached to his belt clattered faintly as the Pontiff laughed.

“No. I can assure you, there is nothing haunting the city’s undergrounds.”

Micolash shrugged. _Well, that’s the opposite of Yharnam._

Their walk continued until Micolash was beginning to feel exhaustion and cold settle deep in his bones. However, the Pontiff showed no signs of stopping their little excursion, so opting to not be rude to his host, Micolash gritted his teeth and pressed on.

It was him tripping and falling over that eventually forced him to stop.

“Are you alright?” The Pontiff asked and it pained Micolash to admit that he was faintly embarrassed to have fallen over as he had. Thankfully, he fell into a pile of snow, but looking down at his feet, Micolash saw that there was a large, crimson stone. It looked unnatural – he snatched it up, examining the stone with open curiosity.

“What do you have in your hands?”

“It smells like blood,” Micolash said, now clutching the red stone. There _was_ sticky blood oozing out of it. Strange, how it hadn’t frozen with how cold it was.

“I see,” The Pontiff hummed. “It’s a Blood Gem. Must have been dropped by one of the patrols. You may discard it if you like. I doubt you’d find any use for it,” he noted, growing silent as Micolash got up on his feet, still holding on to it.

“I think I will keep it for now,” Micolash said. “I’ve seen the— crystal lizards carrying odd ores, but I haven’t seen anything like these.” It was also quite the hassle to catch one, fast as they were.

“Oh, they are quite common,” The Pontiff assured him. “The place is quite littered with them.”

Regardless of the Pontiff’s reassurance, Micolash dropped the rock into his pocket and the two continued their walk in a now-awkward silence. It was plain that the Pontiff would have preferred if he did not keep the rock.

When Micolash finally returned to his chamber, he felt invigorated for once.

…

“Oh, joy, more Estus soup.”

His meals consisted of some type of soup – it warmed his skin and made his head feel light, and it also made sleep come easier. When he asked the deacons about it they had kept diverting the topic until one of them, eventually, confessed that it was some ancient recipe. Cuisine passed from ancient worshippers of the Sun, and they explained how it was meant to heal the body and strengthen the mind. He typically felt uneasy to drink it— still questioned its substance, but now he drank it eagerly, because he needed its strength.

The deacons gave him odd looks, but otherwise he roamed undisturbed, hunting for those elusive crystal lizards in the courtyards outside the cathedral. Pontiff Sulyvahn’s insight did give him an idea – coupled with observations reported by his students about the creation that brought him here possessing a keen interest in specific rocks and trinkets. Micolash had started collecting the lizard’s ores.

Perhaps, he could lure it into contact. It was a brutish approach, but he had no other ideas.

However, the lizards were incredibly elusive. He used what tools he had on hand – mainly weapons he found and could barely carry from the old, decrepit fortress and used them to trap the tiny pests. Outsmarting them was not particularly difficult, but they often disappeared, seemingly melting into the ground. It was mind-boggling.

Feeling frustrated, he stopped for a break and shoved his hands in his overcoat’s pockets to warm them, only for the augur inside of one of them to stir awake. The creature bit his finger and Micolash yelped, immediately pulling his hand out. There was a small cut on his forefinger, but otherwise no other damage.

“My apologies.” He gave the augur a sad look. Stranded as he was, he had no access to Lumenflowers and thus could not feed his tiny friend. Micolash had tried feeding it other flowers he found within Anor Londo, but the creature seemed entirely disinterested.

He rubbed the augur’s tiny head apologetically with his thumb and then tucked it back in his pocket. Micolash did not know whether the creature would actually die from malnutrition, but it was plain to see that it was growing quite irritated. He would need to—

In the corner of his vision, he saw another crystal lizard attempt to scurry away, but it only reached the edge of the balcony, when it got knocked out. The air crinkled and something massive and nearly-invisible passed above it, and then quickly disappeared. Micolash blinked slowly, squinting his eyes in confusion. The crystal lizard struggled a bit as it tried to roll back on its front, but with another tap of the same ghostly appendage, it disappeared.

“How… peculiar,” he noted with a grin. Immediately he jumped up to investigate the space where the lizard had just been. He circled around the spot, walked into it and tried to see and sense if there was any disturbance – he had never cursed fate more than now that his cage was broken when he arrived here and he was left bare without it.

However, no matter how much he lingered, the creature did not approach him, nor could he feel a higher force. Micolash put a hand under his chin in thought. He would need a bigger sample size and conduct more experiments – perhaps he could even ask the deacons for some help with hunting down the crystal lizards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi  
> you know that one chapter thats absically the connecting tissue between segments and its just a slog to get thru cos ure just trying to establish things? this is that chapter and its partly why it took a while, but at least starting next one the fun begins
> 
> also me writing the about mico raised a brow and was just going, WAIT HEDOESNT EVNE HAVE EYEBROWS--but decided to just leave it in
> 
> next chapter: mico shares his observations about the amygdalas want with a fellow scholar


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